


That.

by orphan_account



Category: World Trigger
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Instability, M/M, Murder, Other, Pre-Established Relationship, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-22 09:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: At least for tonight, there will be no report of the screaming, cradled in the alley. Everything had been a blur at the time, and even now, when he slows down and tries to remember everything in sequence, it still does not quite come together.





	1. Sky.

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains graphic depictions of homicide.

He figured he would need to vomit once he got back. That he wouldn't be able to stomach what had happened, and that, whether or not he _wanted_ to, he would have to. His stomach turns. His rib cage stretches. He feels every step with icy clarity, and his knees feel like they are going to give out. The door closes gently, and he shakily locks it behind himself, on the tips of his fingers. He deactivates his trion body, and within an instant, everything from that night and the moments leading up to it rushes him. But when he leans himself over the toilet, his arms quivering weakly, his mind swirling, his insides swirling, he cannot.

The sickness recedes like a wave back into the ocean. His arms sag against his side. He sinks to the ground, slowly, against the wall, so aware of the front of his body and the sleeves of his jacket as he holds them out from his body. He sits. Numb. Tired. Scared. His body quivers suddenly, and without warning, the tide sweeps back in, and he remembers everything again, clearer this time. He leans over. His legs are too weak to hold him, so he props himself up on his elbows and is promptly sick. One arm loosens from his white-knuckle grip on the plastic rim to hold his hair out of his face, but strands are already sticking to one cheek. Glued to his face with sweat and- He feels his stomach contort, and with each spasm, tears of exertion prick in the corners of his eyes.

Then, it is over.

He stares. A reddish-brown color smears the bowl in the shapes of his fingers, and he flushes with his eyes closed, swallowing down mouthful after mouthful of saliva as it welled up. His veins stretch and throb to accommodate the surge of blood as it pulses through him. His gloves are already starting to stick to themselves. He slips them off and lays them in his lap. Gingerly, he slides the zipper down, making sure to keep the ends up. It is not dripping anymore. It has almost soaked into the fabric, but he is still careful to keep it above his lap. He had not expected it to be so- everywhere. Trion does not quite gush the way it had earlier that night- and Oh, he is already feeling ill again, but he is so _empty._ He can't vomit anymore. Instead, he shivers and continues to peel his jacket off of his skin.

When the knife had plunged in, there had been some resistance. He remembered how it had felt. The halting, stopping motion it had made- where it diverted because maybe- he was going to vomit- it had glanced off of his ribs. Then, when his hand retracted in horror, the knife hadn't come with it. The palm of his glove had slid right off. And his muscles were clenched around the knife. But the man recoiled, immediately shouting and gripping the handle. The blood ran out of his face, but he dived forward. He fumbled for the handle. Panic.

He is panicking now.

At the time, he couldn't even have processed what he saw in his eyes. All he had known is that he was dangerous before he’d lunged at him. He was dangerous even after the knife was lodged inside him. He had been around before. He had seen him. He figured he could end it without warning Arashiyama. He'd given him passing advice, something along the lines of, "Make sure you lock your doors", and Arashiyama had smiled. He knew to take him seriously. But the smile he had on his face made him _worry,_ it made him so worried. And it didn't help that he'd seen him after leaving that night. Further away, this time, and by accident.

He'd seen him. He should've walked away. But their eyes met, and he knew he couldn't.

He pulls his arms from the sleeves of his jacket, cringing at the feeling of the wet fabric. He is covered in it. He knows he should not make a mess, but he is limited as to what he can really do to contain it. He trembles as he balls the jacket up in his hands. He feels something drip against his leg, and he instinctively puts his hand under the ball of clothing to keep it from spilling any more. He rests the jacket in the sink. He had not thought to bring something to hide his clothes in- What would he do when he needed to bring his clothes back to his room? He needs- He needs-

He won’t forget the way he screamed. It reverberates around in his skull now, just bounces around. His brain swims. He turns and unbuttons his pants. The legs are worse than the jacket. They’d been pressed up so close- he sucks in a breath and slides them down. After that, he is quick to take off the rest of his clothes and slip into the shower. He cannot worry about the clothing when he already feels so-

It feels like a long, long while before he determines himself to be clean. He scrubs himself so hard that he turns pink, and he can see the tracks of his nails carving red into himself. He can feel his skin coming loose. The blood that had crusted into scaly patches on his cheek and wrists starts to come loose, and as it sloughs off his skin, he hears the _glop_ sound it makes as it falls from his body. He does not look down. He threads his fingers through his hair, over his face. It feels like he spends an eternity cleaning himself there in the water, but realistically, it cannot be too long. It is late. Someone will hear. And even though it is a regular enough event for him to come home late, and it is even more regular for him to come home and immediately shower, he cannot help but feel that someone will _know_ and come to check on him.

He is so busy washing in the limited time he has allotted himself that he cannot afford to think about what has happened to cause all of this.

He steps out of the shower and dries off. Then, with the hand towel by the sink, he crouches and wipes some of the flecks of blood on the floor. He makes quick work of cleaning the wall by the toilet and the floor tiles. Quick, but in-depth. It's an intricate task. Everything is an intricate task now. It will be. Perhaps for months. He swipes the towel along the crack between the wall and floor. And then he reviews his job. Standing and walking from the door to the toilet, he tries to imagine himself as someone who doesn’t know. Looking at that room alone, would they?

 

It settles in.

 

His mouth fills. His body weighs on him. And he goes to the door, his towel still around his waist. To some extent, what he does from that point on is automatic. He puts his clothing into the washer and returns to the bathroom to clean out the sink. He washes his hands and does not look in the mirror. He changes into clean clothes in his room and then adds his towel to the washer before starting it. He leans against it, feeling resolved from before. He catches a glimpse of himself in the soft, metallic reflection of the washer. At least for tonight, there will be no report of the screaming, cradled in the alley. Everything had been a blur at the time, and even now, when he slows down and tries to remember everything in sequence, it still doesn’t quite come together.

He knows this- He hadn’t touched the knife after it skittered to the ground. He’d just stood there in silence, waiting for him to twitch, or waiting for someone to see him there. He couldn't tell how long he waited. Nothing had happened. He had almost ducked out of the alley before stopping himself and reaching for his trigger. Then he walked slowly out of the alley in his uniform, barely able to restrain himself to a normal, guiltless speed. His breath was frantic. His eyes were narrowed. He wanted to look as though nothing was wrong, and he knew that he needed to, but he was fighting himself the entire way and losing the battle with his nerves. He'd made it back to the streetlights, and from there, home. Then, from the door, he’d walked straight to the bathroom. He hadn’t turned back once in his journey.

Collapse.

He had left his phone on the bed in his room. It had been there all day. He glances down the hallway now, wondering whether it is safe to go retrieve it. Tamakoma in its entirety is already asleep, and he had been quiet, so there is no reason for anyone to be awake. But he makes sure before leaving the washer to grab his phone off his nightstand.

There are a couple missed calls and texts. A couple unknown subscriptions to sites and services he didn't know he had. His thumb raises to enter his password.

Six wrong tries, his phone warns him, in the blink of an eye.

"Oh," Says Jin weakly. He returns to the washer, his post, and then he tries again.

He does not bother with his voicemail. Something about the light from his phone, in the darkness of the base, makes the experience surreal. His first text from Arashiyama previews, "Are you home yet?"

He sends back, "Yeah."

Almost instantly, he receives a number of quick, sparse messages from him expressing his relief. To which he says aloud, "Okay."

Then he puts down his phone and leans back against the washer with a little more of his weight. Numb. He feels the washer heating up, vibrating. The weight of his clothing swirls around inside it. He remembers the feeling of the knife-

He texts Arashiyama again, "Next time, I'll cook."

Clean, but numb, now.

He receives a text back but doesn't check it.


	2. Glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story contains graphic depictions of homicide.

He had slept.

Slept!

Beyond some point, his eye just couldn't stay open. He was lying in bed, and his phone was off beside him. The shutters were pulled down, and he could only see slivers of the nighttime sky. Stars peeked out from the velvet blue background, like holes poked into a styrofoam cup. He'd done that once when he was younger and put a flashlight under it. But he couldn't think too hard about how beautiful it was outside. Outside, somewhere, there was blood on the ground. He was sleeping within ten miles of the body. And all he could think about was his jacket, warm and lying in the bottom of his closet with the rest of his clothes. Clean, dry, safe. If he thought as hard as he could, he could remember the evening he had spent before everything had gone to hell and shaky hands.

Jin had almost invited himself over. He hadn't, if only for the fact that Arashiyama had insisted, and he was reusing an invitation from the week before. He knew Arashiyama would insist, though. He always did. He had arrived squarely between lunch and dinner, so he had the secret pleasure of watching Arashiyama work in the kitchen as he prepared dinner, while he, himself, chopped ingredients on the board in front of him. Arashiyama would add things to a pot or skillet and season them, and Jin would mindlessly chop vegetables and meat beside him. It was their system. Every now and then, Arashiyama stuck a spoon his way, and Jin gratefully tasted whatever he offered him. His family had come home at staggered times, first his siblings, then his father and mother, greeting him amicably and helping him set out plates when dinner was ready. They had dinner together.

Then, the two had spent the rest of the evening on the couch, relaxed. Holding hands. Sometimes speaking, sometimes laying back. When he noticed that Arashiyama was yawning more than he was speaking, he glanced at the time and decided to take his leave.

As he slipped on his shoes by the door, he said, "Lock your doors tonight, okay? You're a safety hazard."

"Security says the same thing," Arashiyama said, his arms crossed, leaning against the wall as he watched him.

"Yeah, you're hard to keep tabs on," Jin sighed whimsically. He straightened up. "If we weren't already dating, I'd stalk you. No question."

"Very romantic," Said Arashiyama, with an edge to it.

“It’s only romantic because I’m saying it,” Jin said, adopting a lofty tone. “I’m a natural charmer.”

"You sure are."

“That sounds like sarcasm."

"Whaaat? No, never."

Jin sighed.

Arashiyama sighed back.

Then they smiled.

(It had happened before. Jin knew, and Arashiyama knew. There had been incidents in the past. Recently, Jin was worried about the notes he'd been getting in his mailbox. Usually, they weren't anything to be concerned about. After all, it had happened before. But the details in the notes- besides being a sort of interesting lunch-time conversation and a source of awed, disturbed laughter to them both, they kept Jin up at night. The police hadn’t been called about them. It would worry the citizens for Arashiyama to be swarmed with bodyguards, and Arashiyama never liked to fuss over his own safety anyway. He didn’t say anything about Jin coming over more frequently or wanting to walk him home all the time. Neither of them did, really.)

"I'm serious about you locking your doors," Jin said, taking Arashiyama's hand lightly.

"You're the only person I have to worry about breaking into my house,” Arashiyama said. Then, remembering one instant where he _had,_ he asked, “You remembered your charger, right?"

"I have it," Jin said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Arashiyama said. "I love you. Text me when you get home."

They kissed. Short. Sweet. Jin loved him.

"Love you, too."

It had been a nice dinner, Jin had thought. In remembering it, he had simply shorted out- one minute, he was awake and remembering everything before nighttime. Then he wakes up, his alarm clock rattling off on his nightstand. The only indication he had fallen asleep at all was that he had woken up. And as he lays in bed, all that stuck in his head was the dinner he'd had with Arashiyama in his family. All he can remember is putting on his shoes and going home. His alarm had gone off like it did every other day.

He had slept.

The bruises start aching, though, and then he remembers the same way he had last night. It doesn’t feel real. As it all floods back into his mind, he knows he had done well enough to clean up- he is sure his jacket is lying in the bottom of the closet, and it had been on him. It had been covered in blood, and he had cleaned it. But he can’t be sure that he hadn’t washed it on a whim. As though it hadn’t been at the scene of the crime.

He isn't sure how long it will be before other people start to talk about it. He had expected it to start as soon as he woke up. Someone would bring it up, there would be news on it, it would be the headline for the paper. Police lights. The small, suburban city of Mikado would be rocked with the story of a horrific murder, and Jin would be surrounded by it. He feels profoundly stranded. He grabs his phone and puts it into the pocket of his sweatpants. Slipping on a shirt from the floor, he pads downstairs. Something about sleeping had taken off the bitter edge of reality. Even if there are consequences to face today, he isn't sure he will believe them when they come.

Downstairs, as he rounds the corner, he hears Karasuma and Konami bickering over eggs the same as always. Reiji is by the sink, finishing up with a pan while his own plate cools on the counter. Karasuma looks to him, and then Konami does. The slight pause and the recognition that Jin sees in their eyes for a brief second makes his heart race.

Any minute he expects their faces to drop, or for someone to ask where he was last night, or better yet, “You don’t look well, are you alright?”

Any of those would have sent him into a cold panic. He is normally okay with the questions- it is just that he isn’t sure he can take it now.

Konami frowns.

“I hate that shirt,” She proclaims. “You need to get rid of it.”

Jin feels a creeping sense of guilt for the surge of affection that he feels in that moment. How is he supposed to say that he loves her for not knowing? So instead, he looks down at his own shirt, as though evaluating it for himself. It has a cartoon logo on it and bright, orange lettering- they'd bought it at a tourist shop when they’d gone to the beach. That had to have been last summer, or the summer before it.

“It’s comfortable,” Jin protests.

“Yeah, but it’s so baggy. And it’s always wrinkled.”

“That’s what makes it comfortable.”

“A lot of your shirts are wrinkled because you put too many clothes in the dryer at one time,” Karasuma indicates to Konami. “Can’t imagine why you’re getting fussy about Jin’s shirts.”

“They-“ She glances down at the shirt she is wearing. Completely pristine. Then, unsure of herself, she says, “I don’t cram my clothes in the dryer.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jin adds. Karasuma shrugs and Konami sputters at the both of them as Jin sits down in Reiji’s chair. Reiji sets the pan next to the sink to dry and turns, wiping his hands on the towel again.

“Jin,” He acknowledges.

“Chef-guy who holds residence at this house,” Jin acknowledges back. A pang- had anything happened last night? It feels like a dream. He wouldn’t be able to joke around if it had been real. He would feel it.

“You look exhausted,” Reiji says, sliding his plate out from Jin. Jin looks mock-disappointed, and then Reiji nods at another plate that is still steaming on the counter. He gratefully accepts the offering. Gratefully accepts the kind gesture.

"I was on a date," Jin divulges like it is an extraordinary secret.

In the midst of her fledgling argument with Karasuma (their voices are still comparatively low), Konami gives him an exasperated look.

"It was a dinner date," Says Jin, to spite her. "And he was so _romantic,_ and _sweet,_ and _handsome."_

"Stop gushing over him," She says flatly.

"It's a privilege of dating him," Jin says. "I get to gush over him. Especially to annoy you."

"I can hit you from here."

"Could you not," Says Karasuma, who is just trying to avoid being jostled in between them. They look like they could bicker a little more before stopping.

Then Reiji says, "You left the hand towel in the sink last night."

Jin feels his heart sink, but his face remains untouched. He rolls his eyes up, as though he were trying to remember himself leaving the hand towel in the sink. He didn't remember that. Had he?

"Sorry," Jin says. "That sounds like something I would do in my sleep-deprived state."

Reiji says, "Make sure to clean up when you're done in the bathroom."

"Sure."

Then, he can't remember whether he had washed out the hand towel. He had left it in the sink after cleaning the drain and sides. Now he knew- but he couldn't remember washing it out. He glances at Reiji covertly and feels stiffly terrified. Reiji would have seen the blood. He would say something if he had seen it. Reiji would ask about it if he had really seen anything. Jin can almost remember how it looked, diffused along the fabric like watercolors. It could have faded. But it wouldn't have explained the blood being there in the first place, and if he had missed anything- Had he missed anything?

Last night, he-

"I'm heading out," Konami says, startling him out of his stupor. "I'm leaving a little early today."

"See ya," Jin offers. Reiji nods. Karasuma finishes the rest of his breakfast and grabs her plate as well, bringing them both to the sink and starting to wash them. Reiji eats briskly, and Jin pulls his phone out of his pocket, setting it on the table in front of him and checking his messages. Partly because he doesn't want Reiji to ask him about last night because now he doesn't know, himself. But it is also because he needs to check-

The only text he had received was from Arashiyama. There are the texts from last night that he hadn't read- "I'm glad. Next time, call me or something. I was getting worried. You even said to lock my doors, and then you go and freak me out by not responding to my messages."

And then, at the bottom, "Did you know that there was going to be a murder last night?"

"Jin? We need to talk, please come to Headquarters today."


	3. Milk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story contains graphic depictions of homicide.

It had been an accident.

It had been an accident.

He had been telling himself that since returning to his room. The illusion is shattered. He can feel his lungs pushing against the inside of his ribcage. It is over. The film over the top of what he had written off as half-real had dissolved and he is submerging himself in the acidic reality. The body- the blood- it had happened. He had been there. He had done it. He didn't have to. It had been an accident. That wasn't what he wanted to happen.

It rattles so hard in his head that his temples start to ache.

Certain details float up to the surface over the haze. He remembers the smell. For an instant, the rusty scent of blood overwhelmed him, but when he had collapsed, it was gone, and all that remained was the faintly musky scent of rain and mildew and sweat. He remembers that. From years and years before, he remembers his mother, and how the same scent had clung to her. He knows what it feels like to have it dry on his skin, to have the slick, oily fluids slowly become viscous and eventually able to grab his skin and hold it together. He knows it. But it had been so _different_ from what he knows. He hadn't expected it. He hadn't wanted it.

It had been an accident.

He had just followed him into the alley. He'd just wanted to confront him. He knew about the knife, had known about it for weeks. He didn't have a plan. He had his trigger with him, and that was all he could have mustered up. When he looked into his eyes, saw the feral glare he had as he wheeled on him, and he saw past him- saw him-

_Watched him grab Arashiyama by the collar, his hair slick with sweat and his eyes wide, terrified, his face flecked with blood already- as he pulled the knife across his neck and let him flow. Jin saw him choke on his own blood and die, sputtering and barely moving as the life drained out of the gash on his throat. He saw the man's fingers draw down Arashiyama's cheek._

If he had let him leave, he would have. That wasn't a conscious realization at the time. At the time, all that was in his mind was defending himself, and he couldn't think past wrestling the knife away. He nurses the bruise on his arm as he recalls it. He hadn't meant to. It was unavoidable.

It was an accident.

He could have told Arashiyama that when he asked him.

He knows the real question. The implications. And he knows that he wants as much as he can give him. Jin feels a lump in his throat, and his hands dig anxiously into his pockets. His first confrontation. How many of these would he have? How many with Arashiyama? His beautiful, world-defending lover, whose shoulders hold the trust of thousands of people, whose hands had reassured hundreds. He could have told him that it was an accident, but that it was an accident for him. That everything he had ever done was for him, and he knows he would have done the same if it were Jin who had died in that uncertain future. He loves him so much. And he could have told him that.

Sighing into his shaky hands, he says, "I saw him as I was walking home. There was... a chance that he would have killed someone. He-" He swallows but then shakes his head without continuing.

"You told me to lock my doors." Arashiyama's expression weakens somewhat, his eyebrows pulling upward as the realization dawns on him.

"Yeah," Says Jin over the lump in his throat.

Arashiyama's hands reach for his, pulling his wrist out from him and holding him in one hand as he mirrors Jin's posture. His other hand draws down his face as he lets out a shaky exhale. His grip is strong. Jin does not even think of pulling away as he lets Arashiyama process it. That he had lied probably would not have even crossed his mind. Jin glances at him, sees the cold horror in his eyes and it forces itself out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

"Jun," He splutters. He can feel the truth boiling up, like steam in a kettle, and he wants to say it. God, he wants to tell him. He cannot stand to watch him like this. He already regrets it. He can save himself now. _He can still do it._

"Yes?" Arashiyama asks. His voice is light and shocked.

His beautiful, world-defending lover, whose shoulders hold the trust of thousands of people, whose hands had reassured hundreds. Who could never tell a lie, even if it meant the difference between living and dying. Who could not stomach keeping a secret. Who he loves, but who would never forgive him. Or, he cannot be sure.

(The person who meant the world to him. The person he had watched die that night.)

"No." Jin caps it off with such tremendous effort that he can feel his throat betraying him. It tightens. Cowardice. "No. I just. I didn't do anything."

If he is beginning to tear up, Arashiyama has not seen it yet. But his shoulders are shaking. All he can remember is the knife.

"You... Couldn't have," Arashiyama forces out, his grip tightening briefly. "Don't blame yourself for that."

"I- I just," Jin says. Then, he trails off.

"It's okay."

"Jun."

"It's okay. Just," Arashiyama sighs again. "I'm sorry. I didn't... That's not how I wanted to word that. I didn't want to make you worry, and I... I'm so sorry," He says, letting go of his wrist to hold him, pushing him closer with one hand planted in between his shoulder blades.

Guilt.

"I'm sorry," Says Jin.

"Don't be."

It is a while before either of them are composed enough to ask what is next. But it is too late for Jin to go back. He feels that with every fiber of his being. And there is nothing he can do to escape the drain vortex he, himself, has created. A crushing depression settles over him so hard that he slumps again, his hand cupping his brow as he squeezes his eyes shut and grimaces in Arashiyama's arms. And when he asks him, he feels himself digging his own grave with each response.

"Did you see his face?"

"I... No... Not really. I can't- I couldn't point it out."

"Where did you see him?"

"... Ten minutes away from your house. On the main road. The street that you follow straight to HQ."

"Was it... Was he really going to kill someone, no matter what?" Arashiyama asks him softly. "I mean... Was it... unavoidable?"

"Someone would have died," Jin says slowly. So tired. "He would have killed someone and went home, no matter what. Like nothing happened."

Arashiyama rubs his arm briefly, his eyes closing as he evens out his breathing. He remains that way for a while, only holding him, as though he is only just barely keeping his own shock in check. As though, if anything else is revealed, he will not be able to contain himself.

Everything he loved him for was working against him, and Jin was taking advantage of it.

"Did you know where the murder happened?" Arashiyama eventually asks.

"No," Jin says quietly.

"Two blocks away from my house," Arashiyama tells him. The distress in his voice makes Jin shudder. "They... It was taped off."

His hand slides from his arm, and then it is Jin's turn to take his wrist in his hand. As though he is somehow conferring the truth to him through his hands. In a way, it is the only thing he can do. He has already sailed so far.

Jin can see over his shoulder.

Already, he cannot stop thinking about the smell of blood.


	4. Sus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story contains graphic depictions of homicide.

Arashiyama loves Jin. They have been dating for two years now. They are long past the point where they can understand what each other is thinking without speaking. Realistically, they had been past that point before they had even started dating. Arashiyama knows he is easier to read than most. Jin had an early advantage on him in that regard. But he is glad that Jin can read him so well. He deserves to be able to see how much he loves him at a glance. He wouldn't have it any other way.

It had been more of a challenge for Arashiyama to begin to read Jin's expressions. His small mannerisms and habits had seemed so incongruous and thoughtless that he used to wonder if he'd ever come to understand all of them. He felt as though he was facing a mountain. As though he was on the other side of the wall Jin had erected around himself. He seemed to let his guard down sometimes, and a little bit before they started dating, Arashiyama recognized that he did have vulnerable moments too, even though he was never privy to them. It almost discouraged him. But he kept letting Jin see his own weaknesses and flaws. Eventually, Jin came to trust him enough to do the same. It had taken years of practice, and there is more to learn every day. But Arashiyama is coming to know every inch of his lover at a pace that is very distinctly their own.

It is part of the reason that he goes the rule of providing a topic instead of simply saying "I need to talk to you". He knows Jin's mind is always occupied with the future. With every word he speaks, new possibilities are being mapped in his head, interlocking and decaying as the world shifts this way and that. With his side effect comes his natural proneness to overthink. He had worked hard to become as good as he is at writing things off that he can't stop or fix, but Arashiyama doesn't like to pile worries on him just because he can handle it. Jin appreciates that. He doesn't need to say as much- he has, but Arashiyama can tell by the grateful, almost-smile he has when it comes up anyway. They've earned that level of trust from each other, and that's how Arashiyama knows what Jin feels or thinks.

It is also how he knows that Jin is lying about the incident.

He trusts Jin. He has put his life into Jin's hands more than he can count. It is _because_ he has spent the last two years by his side that he can tell that there's something off about what he told him about the incident. It is his most accomplished and seldom-used skill. Over the years, Arashiyama had become able to break through the one barrier that no one else had ever been able to penetrate of their own merit, and as he held Jin and listened to his story, he could _tell._

He just can't tell what part exactly had been a lie.

He strides through the lobby on his way to the door, his bag over his shoulder. His paperwork is safely tucked inside in a manila folder, and he promises his squad on his way out that he will have them finished by tomorrow after rescheduling their squad practice. His siblings will be dismissed from school in a bit, and he needs to wait for them by the gate. It's starting to fade into the colder half of Autumn. He knows they haven't seen the police tape yet, so he'll buy them something warm to drink on their way back and take a different route home. He knows it's an almost pointless effort. Keeping them from the information is futile, and they will find out about it as soon as the media frenzy descends upon the alley a few blocks from their home. They _will_ know. It will be everywhere.

Jin also knows this. He knows that Arashiyama will do anything to shield his siblings from the incident, and he, himself, wouldn't want them to know anything about it either. Jin gets along well with his siblings, who half-revere him and rely on him to cut into Arashiyama's overbearing affection. He is more covert about his protectiveness over them. They appreciate that. There is nothing that would hurt either of them like having Fuku and Saho walk home together, side-glancing down each road and hurrying home in fear while the night fades in earlier than it did the day before.

Arashiyama can't figure out why Jin would lie when he _knows_ that.

As he nears the door, he catches sight of them. Reiji and Konami walk into HQ, commanding attention from their first steps inside the building. It is always a rare occasion for Tamakoma members to visit HQ besides Jin. Konami is still in her school uniform, and Reiji is dressed in a fitting, gray sweatshirt and dark jeans beside her. Arashiyama checks his watch. Then he walks over to greet them. At the sight of him, Konami says something short to Reiji and immediately runs for him. Reiji stops in his tracks, watching her approach him. He gives a curt nod over her head. Arashiyama nods back.

"Jun!" Konami exclaims. "Hey!"

"Hi," He frowns. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"I got out early," she says. "Rindo said he needed us here for something- Jin said he'll come later, if you’re looking for him. Look, are you okay? There was that incident near your place..."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Arashiyama says. The news had traveled fast. He steels himself. "I was just going to pick up Fuku and Saho from school."

"Okay, good," Konami sighs. "I was just- I got all worried because it was close to your house. I know the police said it was an incident of self defense, but I mean, now there's going to be this huge investigation. Really, tell them to take a different route home until this clears up."

"Self defense," Arashiyama echoes. "I hope they find whoever did it soon."

"They'll still probably be arrested," Konami tells him. "For murder, I think. And for not reporting it. That's what the police said, but it'll be good to get it cleared up."

He looked mildly at her. "There were witnesses? They can't... be arrested, right?" He trailed off, looking uncertain. "What do you mean?"

"Did you read the news update?" Konami asked incredulously.

"No," He said. "Wait, what about reporting it? Report what?"

She spoke in a low, confidential tone, a perplexed look on her face. "They said the knife used in the murder was from the victim's home. The police said the guy probably attacked someone, and they killed him in self-defense. You didn't hear about that? They put a call out for confessions, or tips or something."

Arashiyama felt his stomach sink. "What?"

"I mean- the guy was going to kill someone, and he got killed instead," She said again. "Read the article, it just got put up. I was just glad because it means that there isn't, like, an actual murderer walking around that close to your house, but you should still be careful."

"I-" He shakes his head. "I- The person who was killed?"

She seems to realize that he isn't keeping up anymore. That he's lost. He has been ever since she mentioned the knife. "Are you okay?"

It takes a surprising amount of effort for him to say 'yes'. What he wants to say is, "That's not what I heard." But then, he doesn't want to explain what he had heard, or from where. He just nods and tries to look unfazed.

"Konami," Reiji says. His arms are crossed.

"I gotta go," Konami says apologetically. He regains control over his expression as he nods stiffly, and he automatically leans forward to receive her as she hugs him goodbye. "Make sure you guys get home soon, it's freezing outside. And read the article!"

She rejoined with Reiji. They turned and started to head toward the administration offices. He feels as if he's just been hit with lightning. He watches her go for a while. He feels detached from his body. People split around him, all on their way to somewhere else. He gets a couple odd looks, but he can't process his surroundings. His mind is elsewhere. Right now, he can only think about the way he had felt earlier. How he had known that Jin was lying, and how he couldn't tell which part he'd been lying about.

_"He would have killed someone"._

He feels his breath hitch. Someone brushes past him close enough that his arm is jostled, and he flinches with his whole body. He feels weak. He staggers to the door. When the wind cuts across his cheeks and the cold forms a hard wall against his coat, he comes to his senses. He starts to walk. Numb.

He could confront Jin. He trusts him, but Jin knew something. He had lied. He wouldn't have lied over just anything. So he must know something. Very short, logical steps. He can feel himself on the cusp of the realization, but he holds himself back. He knows what he doesn't want to, already. His pulse is so fast he can't feel it. He remembers that evening, the forlorn look Jin had given him as he had said goodbye. That he loved him.

Arashiyama _loves_ Jin.

He half-jogs onto the sidewalk and starts on his way to the Middle School. It is chilly. He can't get it out of his head, though, and not even the cold can keep his mind from spinning out. It's a short walk- the schools aren't far from Headquarters so, blessedly, he can make the trip quickly and he has time left over to pace slowly, but nervously, outside the school gates. He checks his watch. The bell rings, and then, standing to the side of the gate, he waits for his siblings to leave the building. A flood of children passes by him. They are on their way home.

Everyone is on their way to somewhere else.

Arashiyama is not an uncommon sight at the school, so even though some children stick around to peer at him admiringly, the majority simply walk past, giving him bright-eyed looks of acknowledgment. His own siblings react by flinching, and Saho seems ready to turn on her heel, but they both do a double-take. Fuku leans to Saho and whispers something to her that Arashiyama can't hear, but he waves at them quickly, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

They walk toward him, slowly.

"Hi," Saho says tentatively as they approach.

"Hey," Arashiyama says. He shrugs, mustering up a smile. "Thought we'd walk home together. We'll get hot cocoa."

None of them immediately move.

"Are you coming from Border?" Fuku asks.

"Yeah." He looks up, and Fuku and Saho share a discreet glance. The sky is almost overcast, and there is a dull gray hue over the sky. "Let's get going. The sun is going to go down soon."

He turns and takes a couple steps, looking over his shoulder to see that his siblings were coming along. They jumped to follow.

They stop to get drinks at a local bakery. It's down the street from Tokieda's house, and it is proudly poised on the corner of the residential district, it’s glossy wooden doors and glass windows letting on to the warmth inside. Once, Arashiyama squad had reported to the scene because a gate had opened nearby. The damage had gotten precariously close to the bakery, but they had stopped the few trion soldiers that had appeared and it hadn't endured a scratch. The owners, an old married couple that had lived in Mikado since they were young sent Tokieda to Headquarters with a paper bag of donuts and a box of cookies to thank them. Arashiyama tries to treat his squad at least once a month to group trips to that bakery. He had been there with Jin, too.

He tries not to think about it. He says goodbye to the lady working at the counter and holds the door for his siblings, both cooling their cups in their hands as they head back out onto the sidewalk. Fuku and Saho happily discuss their school days as they walk ahead of him. The detour had put them on a good path for avoiding the yellow tape that was still up. His siblings hadn't asked him why he was walking them home today, of all days. When it is so cold- when he doesn't have to.

Arashiyama doesn't have to say much to keep the attention off of him. By the time that they get home, Fuku and Saho are pleasantly flushed and they thank him politely as they bounce up the stairs. He calls out for them to do their homework, and they make half-hearted sounds in response. He feels his heart melt. His siblings are the most important thing in the world to him. He's glad to be able to walk them home now and then, but needling in the back of his mind is always the thought that he's consciously protecting them.

He thinks of Jin. Part of him feels bitter. The rest of him feels sick.


	5. Self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story contains graphic depictions of homicide.

Shinoda's brief address of the murder is simply to notify the members of Tamakoma that the murder had, in fact, occurred, and then to ask if they knew anything about it. No one had said anything. Then, he had asked for their continued vigilance and cooperation with the police. The meeting adjourns. A formality. 

It comes to what Jin always knew it would come to- flashing lights at Headquarters. 

He is just leaving the administrative offices when he first sees them. The group of police is walking together, Sawamura taking the charge as she leads them down the hallway. There's almost a disconnect between what he has experienced these past couple days and the stark reality that there will be police involved. He is used to the overwhelming, horrified feeling that comes over him. It's a well-greased response. Normally, he might make some coy remark to Sawamura as she passed, but now he remains silent as he steps back into the doorway and watches them as they pass.

It's a right of the innocent to be carefree. 

He doesn't know anything about proper legal processes, or how the police operate. Up until now, he'd only known anything about detectives in TV shows and movies. He isn't sure how unworried he should look, because a part of him _knows_ that he has the upper hand. The police can't see the future the way he can- they can only infer it, and there isn't much evidence working in their favor. They don't have much to draw from, and Jin knows it. But as they pass, and as he feels the raw wave of purpose sweep over him, he feels _weak._ Cold. 

A part of him expects them to notice him and turn around to face him. _Can't they sense things like this?_ He feels as though he's sweating. He's not sure he is, but he feels like he is, and he almost holds his breath as they turn the corner.

Then they're gone. He lets out a slow, pressured exhale. 

"Hey."

He flinches and immediately swivels- 

Tachikawa is ostentatious whenever he's not in uniform. It would be the other way around if he were like any other agent, but as it stands, Tachikawa spends most of his time in his trion body. The times that anyone has seen him without his flowing black cloak are numbered. Today, he wears a white dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms and pinned with gray sleeve garters. He has his hands in the pockets of his dark gray slacks. A black jacket is slung over his shoulders. He looks remarkably casual- to his own standards- unworried, un-rushed, but as he looks Jin up and down, a glint of understanding crosses his eyes. He knows it's about the police.

"Y'hear about the guy who died?" He asks bluntly.

Jin bites the inside of his cheek briefly as he considers what he should say. It's almost momentary. Looking at him, he can trace exactly where this conversation is going to go, and so, slowly, he says, "Yeah. It was by Arashiyama's place. He told me about it."

"Did you see him today?" Tachikawa asks. When Jin shakes his head, inquisitively, he says, "He looked awful. Upset, I mean. He left early."

"Yeah," Jin says grimly. "He seemed that way yesterday."

"You spoke to him yesterday?"

"Yeah. He knew about it right away. He left early?"

"Well, you know how he is with his siblings," Tachikawa muses. "He probably left to go pick them up."

Jin slumps, crossing his arms. "Probably."

Tachikawa mimics his lazy posture. "I think a news story came out about it a couple hours ago. Police are going to be in and out of here until they find the guy."

"You think?" But he isn't really asking for the answer.

Tachikawa knows that. "Busy later?"

"Maybe," Jin says. "Did they say that they're seriously looking at Border agents? The police?"

"I dunno." He stretches. "Probably not. Maybe they're just checking their bases or something. You wanna get something to eat?"

"Dunno," Says Jin. "Where?"

"Anywhere." Tachikawa shrugs. Then he nudges him and says, "Are you upset about something?"

"Arashiyama," Jin tells him. He shifts, his arms uncrossing as he hooks his thumbs in his pockets. "That he's this worried... I dunno. It's rare, so I'm worried about it. You know?"

"Gross," Tachikawa says plaintively. 

He cracks a smile. "I'm guessing it didn't go well, last night?"

"Smartass," Tachikawa says, shoving him so hard he loses his balance. Jin snickers. And collectively, they start to walk down the hall. "Let's get something to eat."

Tachikawa tells him about the upcoming rank war before he even asks- and then they get into a conversation about the trainees. Lately, there's more to talk about than ever. Of course, everyone at Tamakoma is doing well and keeping up with their training. In a way, it's out of necessity, Jin explains. Tachikawa doesn't press for details. Instead, he tells him that he's going to be late to HQ tomorrow, and asks whether Jin will show up. Will he?

"And don't try to back out by saying you're going out somewhere," Tachikawa says. "If I can make time for it, you can, too."

"I'll be there," Jin says because there's not much else to say. "I heard Izumi's been training with Osamu a little."

Tachikawa shoots him a glance. They are nearing the doors at this point, and he slips his jacket on in preparation. "Yeah, he mentioned it. I don't think it'll be something long term, though."

"Why d'ya say that?" Jin asks lazily, opening the door and leaning against it as Tachikawa moves past him, his collar flicking in the wind. He shivers. "Izumi's a pretty good mentor, isn't he?"

"Obviously," Said Tachikawa with a hint of pride in his voice. "I guess Osamu's taken to it so quickly that Izumi can't really teach him much more, though. He knows what to do technically- he just lacks strength and experience to back it up, he said."

"Well," Jin said as he joined him on the sidewalk. "Osamu's smart."

"Weak, though. Before you get smug about it."

"He'll get stronger."

"He has to be fast about it, then. You said he wants to go on the upcoming away mission, right?"

"That's the idea," Jin said. "His whole team is depending on it."

Tachikawa sighed ruefully. "The ship's too small."

"They're well-behaved, at least." Jin glanced up at the sky. He couldn't see the stars.

"I'm just saying, they _better_ behave."

"They're respectful kids."

(For the time being, Jin isn't a murderer. He is living the same life as the person who murdered the man in the alley. He is wearing the same clothes and saying the same things. Earlier, he had experienced the same sinking dread that a murderer would. But for this moment, and this moment only, he isn't the same person. It's as if it had never happened).

They walk to a cheap, family restaurant that feels like they've been there hundreds of times. They sit down, order. Tachikawa has a drink, offers him one coyly, and Jin rolls his eyes at him. The preamble to their conversations is never drawn-out, and then they're just catching up. It's been two months or so since they'd last gone out. Last time, it had been a time-filler. Now, it is mostly the same. 

They talk about patrol, trainees, Shinoda, Kido. Then Arashiyama, the woman Tachikawa had asked out earlier that week, Arashiyama again, then the woman one more time. The police. Arashiyama. The murder. The murder, more. Punctuated with the bill being paid and the door closing behind them, Jin eventually tells him about the meeting earlier. 

He feels good. He is starting to feel better. There is a residual soreness to the subject, and as he talks about it, it feels like he's digging his fingers into a bruise. But it fades. He can't feel anything. He hates it, and, a little delirious as the cold sun runs over his face and arms, he says, "Someone's just walking around after killing someone."

"I dunno," says Tachikawa. He rubs his hands together and then breathes into them. Then he digs them into his pockets and hunches his shoulders. "I'd stay home for a day or two if I had just killed someone. Lay low."

Jin says, "You don't think it'd look suspicious if you took a day off from work right after a murder was committed?"

"Haven't really thought about it." Together, they looked down one of the streets to their left. "I don't think he's outside around now. He won't at night, anyways. Guy probably learned his lesson."

"Heh," Says Jin wistfully. 

They round the corner to the base.

"You should check on him," Tachikawa says abruptly, but casually. 

"I'm gonna," He says. "Later." There is a disconnect in which Jin has to wonder about Arashiyama, who seems more scared than he does. 

Tachikawa waves goodbye and heads towards his operation room to attend patrol. 

Two officers are at the front desk. Jin shoots them a furtive look from the door and then keeps his eyes on the ground as he walks around the desk. That afternoon, they will find nothing, and they will return to the police headquarters for a conference. They will have told the press that no new evidence had been discovered, and in the wake of it, they will return to their desks and pour over the only things they have to look at-

The body. The blood. The knife.

For the moment, they've hit a roadblock. Maybe he would have felt relieved enough to gasp the day before. Shinoda emerges from a conference room attached to HR. 

Jin knows at a glance that he should walk away. It's too late, though, he's already seen this- how much more can he see ahead? Within an instant, everything goes off the rails- The police- The police are in the lobby, and it's too late to escape him, and he knows exactly what he's going to say and where it will lead-

Everything had been going smoothly, and then-

He starts to feel that familiar dizzying anticipation as Shinoda catches his eye and strides towards him. Inevitable. He's ready for it. It slides him back into the same paranoid way he had been that night.

"Jin, perfect timing. We need your help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though it is planned out, this story is mostly something I continue to post for myself. Whenever I feel upset, I section out from the outline and write a chapter. Then I'll edit it and post it the next day. Recently, it feels like I'm updating quicker and quicker. I didn't notice it until I looked at the update times.


End file.
